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Autumn in New York

It’s been a long time since I last posted -- over two months. We got back from Australia one month ago, and I actually did write a post about that trip, but I never quite finished it, so I never published it, and time passed until it no longer seemed relevant, and now it is lost to the annals of the internet forever, left to languish until eternity in my Google Drive.

There’s a lot to tell you. I don’t really know where to begin. In the month or so since I got back, I commenced my job search, found a job, moved to Washington Heights, started my new job, and am now fully absorbed into the exquisite hell that is living and working in Manhattan.

When I was younger -- I don’t remember how old, probably early teens -- I made a vow to my aunt, who lived in the city. I first thought about it, fully pondered the significance of it, and then made the decision to speak the words aloud. I vowed to her that I would never live in Manhattan.

It just goes to show that you will never really know your life. And that you shouldn’t make vows. (Judaism already knew this.) Because hey, look at me. I live in Manhattan now. Yes, Washington Heights is almost as uptown as you can get but technically it is still on the island.

I HATE living in Manhattan.

It has only taken me three short weeks to learn this. Actually, less. In truth, I knew it before I even moved. I’ve known for years, as the above anecdote illustrates.

I hate everything about it. I hate the concrete, the metal, the massive buildings. I hate the smells, the steam, the puddles. I hate the shouting, the honking, the jostling, the sirens. I hate the people most of all. I hate the crowded sidewalks, the traffic, the grayness. I HATE the subway. When I travel through the city, trudge through the streets, descend into the subterranean tunnels, emerge again into New York’s horrifying reality, I can FEEL my soul being crushed, oppressed, flattened by this massive metropolis.

I have searched my entire canon of understanding, but it is absolutely beyond my comprehension why anyone would ever want to live here, or how anyone could ever enjoy it. I. Do. Not. Get. It.

Luckily, my personal living situation is good. I’m in a nice, roomy apartment with nice, normal roommates. It’s a small building, so I’m not trapped on a high floor or forced to walk up a million flights. My room has not one but two windows, a closet, and a radiator (which makes truly horrific noises but I shouldn’t complain because it’s warm). I will not go on my tirade about building-controlled heating, which is another concept I do not understand, at this time.

But New York does have some redeeming qualities. For example, it contains Phil. And nearby boroughs contain other people I love. And my parents are an LIRR train ride away. In addition, New York has pizza. All of those things are very important to me.

It’s strange, living in such close proximity to my family. Of course, I spent a good part of this last year in very close proximity, i.e., the same house, as my parents. But this is different. Almost my entire adult life, I’ve lived 6,000 miles away from my family, and now I’m within an hour of almost everyone I’m related to. It’s so weird.

But awesome. Recently, during a really overwhelming week of adulting, I had the sudden magic realization that I could . . . go home for the weekend. I could leave the dreary, packed, loud city and go to the suburbs, where I could have home-cooked, well-balanced meals, stretch out on a couch in front of the fire, snuggle my cat, get my laundry done, and enjoy the TLC that only doting parents could provide.

As the Huntington line chugged away from Manhattan and towards Syosset, I noticed that the trees had begun changing colors and losing leaves. AUTUMN! Sweet, crisp, golden, crunchy, orange-brown-yellow-red AUTUMN, happening out here in the world while I was trapped in my concrete nightmare!!! My soul filled with joy. Color blossomed back into my life. I could breathe again. I could see grass. I could see sky! Autumn is one of my very, very favorite things about America.

Going home was like going on a mini-vacation, even though I’d only just moved away from there. It felt like when I used to visit from Israel for two weeks at a time, like a break from real life. And I realized that I could do this, whenever. Any time I felt I needed some nurturing, or QT with DJ, or air, or dinner that wasn’t spaghetti with butter, I could just . . . go home. I had that resource now, something I never had, and always needed, in Israel.

So that’s a major perk of living in New York. Another is being close to my sister, and to friends that live in the city. Theoretically I can see them any time. I say “theoretically” because Washington Heights still feels like a thousand miles away from anywhere useful. New York is huge, and have I mentioned how much I hate the subway? And, of course, everyone is always busybusybusy. But it’s still cool to know that I CAN see them. Theoretically.

But the real reason why I’m here is Phil. If not for him, I’d probably be in another state entirely. In fact, when I originally conceived of my western road trip, it was, in part, a sort of scouting mission for a potential new community. But Phil happened first. ::Heart emoji:: Anyway, that’s how I ended up in New York. Not that I blame him. Fortunately, he hates the city almost as much as I do, and we text some variation of “I can’t wait to get out of here” back and forth at least once a day.

At the same time, it’s nice to be living within ten minutes’ walking distance of him for the first time in our entire relationship. Up until now, we were pretty much exclusively long distance. Between Adamah, Nashville, my road trip, and Australia, our first five months or so were pretty hectic. Now life is settling into the rhythm it’ll likely follow until Phil graduates rabbinical school in June: both of us living in the Heights, busy during the day, hanging out a couple of nights a week, and spending Shabbats together. So far it’s been pretty awesome.

Now I’ll get to what I’m sure you’re all wondering about - my new job. Not gonna say too much about it because I just started, but it’s up my alley, in the editing and Jewish worlds both. I was incredibly lucky to have been able to find it so quickly after I started my search. The last job I had in the U.S. was shift supervisor at the Lindt Chocolate in the Roosevelt Field Mall circa 2010, so I had very limited experience job-hunting here and really didn’t know what it would take. I signed up for all the job-search sites, made myself a LinkedIn profile, and began applying. It’s grueling stuff, and I won’t lie, it was quite demoralizing at times. But incredibly, I only had to do it for about two weeks before I got an interview for a job that seemed like a very good match. A week after that I was hired, and a few days after that, I started working. Baruch Hashem!

It’s not all puppies and rainbows, of course. Transitioning into a new role is challenging, and traveling back and forth to the office every day is downright nightmarish. In a perfect world, I believe you would never need to be touched by strangers in any way, let alone have their fat butt squish your butt into a subway seat, or breathe in their B.O., or absorb their germs into your skin as you grab for a pole, or listen to their labored breathing and weird mouth sounds. Or, as on one memorable occasion, be accused of using your white privilege by standing too close to another passenger on a packed train. In an ideal world, NONE of these things would happen. Sometimes I get back to my apartment at night after battling through the subway and I feel truly unclean. I have to fully shower just to wash away the sense of deep impurity I get from absorbing the unwholesome miasma of New York.

New York is truly oppressive. If one’s soul is a flower, New York is the boot that stomps on it. I know I will only survive if I periodically escape. Last Sunday I explored Fort Tryon, a beautiful park on the edge of Washington Heights filled with brilliant changing trees and tons of crunchy leaves, and as I wound my way deeper into the park and left the city behind, I could feel my poor soul being nourished, renewed. Of course, it’s not a large park and you can’t go very far before a highway comes into view, or you stumble upon a parking lot, but it is an oasis nonetheless.

But winter is coming. The temperatures drop every day, and soon I’ll have to climb back into my massive winter parka for the season. That means a lot less nature and a lot more cocooning. Of course that’s not always a bad thing. Winter, after all, is very cozy, and you get to wear sweaters every day. Plus, the biggest, best thing of all about winter: CHRISTMAS!!! Yes, Christmas is coming too, and every time I see a new store display, or hear a classic jingle, or notice lights going up, I’m as happy as a child who still believes in Santa.

I’m a proud Jewess, but Christmas season is pure magic, and I absolutely love it. The most wonderful time of the year, indeed! All the good stuff is coming up: Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas movies on TV, Christmas itself. And I, I get to be here, to be immersed in it, part of it. All the upcoming family parties and events - I’ll be there. Macy’s holiday window displays - I walk past them daily. The twinkling lights and wintry decorations, glimpses of glowing trees behind curtains - it’s all going to happen in my very own neighborhood!

So yes, I am slowly adjusting to my new life here. And that means I’m no longer wandering, no longer joyfully winging my way through America. My year of scratching that 30-year-itch is, for all intents and purposes, officially over. I’m paying rent and utilities again. I’m going to work every day. I’m living for the weekend. I have once more hoisted up the heavy mantle of adulting.

It’s been nearly 11 months since I came home. Almost exactly a year since I gave notice at my job in Israel, which I identify as the moment I really committed to my decision. I had no idea what was going to happen, and no desire to think about the future. I was going to live in the moment and learn about myself, blah blah blah! I was going to have new, exciting, different experiences.

And I did.

For those of you who have followed this blog from the beginning, you’ve seen many of those revelations happen, watched as I embraced or struggled with those new experiences. You’ve seen the process unfold. I’ve written about it a bunch, and I don’t need to say it all again. I was unhappy - I made a change - it worked.

And now I’ve come full circle. The 30-year-itch has become the 31-year-scratch. I’m content. Things couldn’t really have gone better, and (besides for having to live in Manhattan) I couldn’t be happier.

There will always be challenges. Starting a new job has brought up a lot of old issues that I didn’t have to struggle with while I wasn’t working, and I have to deal with those now. Not being free to travel or do whatever I want whenever I feel like it is, obviously, a bummer. And did I mention how the city is grinding my will to live into little bits?

But those prices are gladly paid when I’m getting so much in return. I know I’m being blessed beyond my wildest dreams, beyond my comprehension, beyond what I ever expected or thought I deserved. So I guess that’s a good note to end on.

I’m not saying this will be my last blog post here - I might have more to say. But as a vehicle for sharing my thoughts/dreams/hopes/fears/discoveries/

adventures during my Year of Freaking Out, I believe the Thirty-Year-Itch has pretty much done its duty.

Now accepting suggestions for a clever name for my next blog. It’ll just be photos of subway rats.